


A Mild Inconvenience

by Cloudnine101



Category: James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aliens, Crack, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"One of my best operatives," M hisses, "has gained </em>tentacles<em>. Would you care to explain that to me, Agent Q?"</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Hitching his glasses up his nose, Q takes a deep, steadying breath. "He hasn't gained them, sir. He was - born with them."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mild Inconvenience

When Q's called to M's office one Friday afternoon, he can't say that he's surprised - this whole thing has been rolling on for a while now. He'd always known it would only be so long before somebody pointed the finger at him.

"If this is about my connection to Bond, or manipulating me through it," Q says, pushing open the door, "then I have absolutely nothing to say that you haven't already heard. No doubt you've already spoken to the man himself about it."

M appears to be on the verge of cardiac arrest. His face is flushed. It's clear that he's been pacing - he pauses when he spots Q's entry, some moments after the door's opening. 

"And also," Q continues, "I really don't see what else there is for me to explain."

"One of my best operatives," M hisses, "has gained _tentacles_. Would you care to explain that to me, Agent Q?"

Hitching his glasses up his nose, Q takes a deep, steadying breath. "He hasn't gained them, sir. He was - born with them."

For a couple of seconds, M stares blankly. "Born with them," he echoes.

Q shifts his feet. There should, he thinks, be a clock ticking somewhere around here - but there's only the mechanical hum of the office fan. Q swallows wetly.

"Yes. He was."

Going to his feet, M sticks his hands in his pockets. He gazes out of the window, into the oncoming dark. "And how long have you known about this, Quartermaster?"

Q stares straight ahead. "Since - Skyfall, sir."

"Since Skyfall." M shakes his head. He looks, vaguely, as though he'd very much like to strangle somebody. Q hopes that it's not him.

"He told me about them, then." Q tries for a shrug, and ends up jerking his arms ineffectually. M's head pivots. The veins in his forehead are standing out. "He trusted my confidence. Now that everybody's aware, I don't see any point in hiding it." 

M's eyes narrow. "That - should - " He trails off. His mouth opens and shuts.

"May I remind you that he _did_ use them to save the PM?"

M sighs. "That's what we have guns for. And tanks. And - and 00-agents! Not - _tentacles_."

"They're just extensions of his body," Q points out. "Quite frankly, I'm shocked that he kept them hidden for all of these years. They could have been a valuable asset."

"How - how did he - ?"

"Hide them?" Placing his feet further apart, Q sways forwards and back. "You humans have a curious knack for seeing what they want to see. And that went for you, as well."

M's eyebrows shoot off his forehead. " _You_ humans? What do you mean, _you_ humans?"

Q smiles. "You're a bright man," he says. "I don't think it's beyond your comprehension to figure it out."

M buries his head in his hands. Q lets him sit quietly for a few minutes. It's a lot to take in, after all. In the meantime, Q busies himself with straightening M's hideous desk ornaments.

"Are all of my agents aliens?" M asks - very, very quietly.

"I should think around seventy percent of them," Q answers briskly. "Including the people who file medical information. If you're starting a vendetta, do be warned: we have rights, and multiple limbs. We're not afraid to use either. Or both, depending on how severe - "

"Get out," M says. "Now."

"Ah," Q says. He packs up his briefcase. "So you don't want to see the PowerPoint, then? I thought it might make things clearer - about our anatomies, and - "

M shudders. " _Now_."

Q uses his initiative. 

 

.

 

"Well," Bond says, once they're securely secreted in the inner-office security booth. (You can never be _too_ careful, as Q's found out over the years.) "How did it go?"

Q shakes his head. "You're buying me a drink," he says. "A very stiff one."

Bond smirks. Something gentle winds its way around Q's shoulders. Q leans, rolling his eyes thoroughly, into the caress.

"Thanks for taking the blow," Bond smirks; the words are pitched low. 

Q whips his tail around. He whacks Bond off the desk.


End file.
